The nice thing about coming to Ingleside in January was that the Blake children had a week of time to re-acquaint themselves with Glen St. Mary before school started again and they had to adjust themselves to that.
The Glen, as its inhabitants airily referred to it, as though it needed no further name, hadn't changed much since Gwen's mother had been a girl. It was still a school (now with a modern high school attached); a Presbyterian and a Methodist church (those upstart Baptists had a church of their own now, too, but it was on the outskirts of town, where most of the members of the other churches could pretend it didn't exist); a train station (the little shed the Blythes had built for the famous Dog Monday still stood, as a memorial of sorts to all the soldiers of the Great War); the Glen Pond (now frozen over and used for skating); and a handful of businesses along Main Street.
Carter Flagg's store was now named Flagg and Douglas, but it still carried everything a person could conceivably need, from flour to straight pins to tractor parts. Mr. Douglas had lost a leg in the War, but he seemed to have no difficulty in moving around and knowing where everything in the store was. His wife, Mrs. Douglas, was loud and a little frightening with her pale eyes that seemed to see everything, but Gwen rather liked the two Douglas children, Van and Lucy. Van was the same age as Jack, and the two palled around everywhere together. Lucy was thirteen and very much like her father, being quiet and calm, with her mother's light hair and Mr. Douglas's warm brown eyes.
Next door to Flagg and Douglas's was the drugstore with a soda fountain, also run by the Douglas family. Uncle Shirley took the Blakes, along with Leigh and Owen, there the very day after they arrived. Despite the cold weather, the six young people all ordered ice cream sodas and shivered their way through them with great gusto.
"How do you like our town so far?" Uncle Shirley asked.
"It's lovely," Lee said with starry eyes, looking up from her vanilla soda. "We've never been here in the winter, and everything is so different."
"We don't spend much time in the town even when we're here in the summer," Phil added. "We mostly spend our time in Rainbow Valley or down by the shore." He looked around reflectively. "Yes, I think it's a fine town."
"It's not very much like Kingsport, though, is it?" Jo said dubiously.
"That makes it all the better," Gwen said promptly. "We'd miss home more if the Glen reminded us of Kingsport. With everything being different, it all feels fresh and fun."
Uncle Shirley laughed. "I think I could guess your personalities just from listening to a five-minute conversation between you all."
"Try it, then," Phil challenged him.
"Yes, tell us all about them, Father," Leigh said with a twinkle in her brown eyes.
Uncle Shirley took up the challenge. "Gwen is a determined optimist; Phil is a practical realist; Lee is sweet as that vanilla soda she just finished; and Jo is an enfant terrible."
Gwen and Phil looked at each other and laughed.
"That pretty well sums us up, I guess," Phil said comfortably.
"Especially Jo-Jo," Gwen added, ruffling that boy's silky fair hair while he scowled at her.
"Now tell them about us, Father," Owen challenged.
"Oh, that's too easy. Leigh is me, and you are your mother."
"But that doesn't tell us anything," Phil said. "We don't even know you and Aunt Persis very well."
"I think I can guess," Gwen said. "Leigh is quiet and steady, and Owen is a little wild, but loveable."
"Well done, Gwen!" Uncle Shirley said, while Leigh blushed a little and Owen grinned at Jo, who made a dreadful face back at him while neither Gwen nor Phil was watching.
"Now tell us about the rest of our cousins, please," Lee asked. "Even the ones who don't live here."
"But you know all of them."
"Not very well, you see, and if we're going to live here for a year we'll need to know all about them," Phil explained.
Uncle Shirley, who really was the quietest out of all the aunts and uncles, looked a little helplessly at his children. Leigh rescued him.
"Well, for here in the Glen there's just us and Jack year-round."
"And Winnie and Ruthie," Owen added.
"Yes, but they're only honorary cousins," Leigh said.
"Still counts," Owen grumbled.
"Jack," Leigh continued, ignoring her brother, "is very nice. He likes to read and write poetry."
"But he's not a sissy," Owen interrupted.
"He's going to be an English Professor at some big university when he's older," Leigh said, "And a famous poet."
"And Winnie and Ruthie look just alike, but one is really fun and one is really shy, and I never can remember which is which," Owen butted in again.
"Ruthie Meredith is as sweet as our Lee," Uncle Shirley said, taking pity on his exasperated daughter. "And Winnie is as much of a chatterbox as Owen. Heaven only knows where she gets it, neither Bruce nor Ruth are much for talking."
Gwen remembered Aunt Ruth as a small, round woman who tended to get lost amongst all the other aunts but always had time for her nieces—both true nieces and honorary.
"Uncle Carl and Aunt Betty only live here in the summer, right?" Phil asked.
"That's right, with Tommy, Lizzie and Celia, who are all younger even than Jo and Owen," Leigh said with a nod.
"Last summer Uncle Carl let me look at his bugs," Phil said in satisfaction.
"Are you going to be a scientist like Carl, then?" Uncle Shirley asked.
"I'm only thirteen," Phil reminded him. "I don't know yet what I want to do. I do like science, though."
"It's his best subject at school," Lee piped proudly.
"Aunt Rilla and Uncle Ken live in your Grandmother Ford's old house, down near the House of Dreams, during the summer," Gwen said. She well remembered the jolly feasts and fun they all had at the old Moore house every summer, followed by bonfires on the shore.
"Thank goodness!" Owen said.
Gwen raised her eyebrows.
"That they only live there in the summer," he explained.
"Owen!" Uncle Shirley rebuked him.
"Sorry, Father," he said, unabashed. "It's just that the twins always are playing nasty tricks on me, and Chloe tries to boss the life out of everybody."
Uncle Shirley still looked stern. Leigh came to her brother's defence.
"It's true, Father. We like them, of course, but they would get to be too much if they were here all the time. And Isaac and Isaiah have done some really mean things to Owen."
"Like the time they filled my bed with spiders and bugs," Owen grumbled. "Or the time they made me believe I was adopted. Or …"
"I get the picture, son," Uncle Shirley said. "I grant that you have reason to say what you did. Sometimes, though, it's best to not say anything at all about a person if you can't say something nice."
"But they asked about the cousins," Owen said. "How can we tell about them if we only say the nice parts? That's like lying."
"Ask your mother when we get home," Uncle Shirley said weakly.
"Anyway," Leigh continued, "That just leaves Rosie and Gil in Avonlea. Gil is thirteen, like Phil—"
Owen giggled suddenly. "Gil and Phil!"
Phil rolled his eyes. "As if we don't hear that every single summer," he muttered.
"—And Rosie is Jo's age, eleven," Leigh finished.
"We know Gil and Rosie pretty well," Gwen said. "Aunt Nan and Uncle Jerry come and visit us every other year on Mother and Aunt Nan's birthday, and we visit them on the off year. Rosie's such a darling, and Gil always has us in stitches."
"He's funnier than all three of the Marx brothers," Jo said gleefully. "And I'm going to marry Rosie when we grow up."
"But she's your cousin," Owen said.
"So? She's the prettiest girl I know, next to Mums. And Mother's already married."
Owen considered this. "I guess that makes sense," he conceded. "I am going to marry Lucy Douglas," he added.
Leigh rolled her eyes, and Uncle Shirley shook his head. Gwen guessed this was a familiar topic for them.
"Well, tell me about the school," Gwen said, leaving the subject of family. The family, after all, was something they were familiar with at least a little, while school was completely new and strange.
"Mr. Grant is the principal of the high school," Leigh said. "And Mrs. Grant teaches English. Their son Bobby is in my class, and Oliver is your age, Gwen. They have a little girl, too, but she's only nine."
"Wasn't Mrs. Grant Aunt Rilla's friend, back during the War?" Phil asked.
"Yes, she lived at Ingleside before she married Mr. Grant."
"She was—and is—a fine woman, and a good friend," Uncle Shirley mentioned.
"Most of the teachers at school are nice," Leigh continued. "Some are strict, but Mr Grant doesn't let any of them bully us students. I mean, we students." She looked to her father for confirmation that she'd used the correct word. At his approving nod, she looked relieved.
"The students aren't bad, either," Owen said. "Some of them might tease you about being city kids, but just ignore 'em. That's what I would do."
"Oh, they'll be nice," Leigh said. "Nobody would be mean to Jack's cousins. He's everyone's hero, in school."
Since Jack was by way of being a bit of a hero to Gwen, too, this came as no surprise to her. She only hoped she could live up to his reputation and not embarrass him too badly. She did have a tendency to embarrass her family … not as much as Jo, of course, but still. She was the one who would trip and fall flat on her nose when walking down a perfectly smooth street, or "get" the joke thirty seconds after everyone else and start laughing just when the rest stopped.
It was very trying, especially to Phil, who was always so careful and precise, and simply could not understand how Gwen could be the way she was.
Truth to tell, Gwen couldn't always understand that, either.
"Why is Jack everyone's hero?" Phil asked now, in his blunt way.
"He's a Blythe and a Meredith," Owen said, as if it should be obvious. When Phil still looked blank, he added, "They're the best families in town! Everybody wants to be friends with Jack, because the Blythes and Merediths are only friends with the best people, so if you're friends with Jack it means you're one of the best." This was all said very quickly, and both Shirley and Leigh were shaking their heads by the time he finished.
"That's not it at all, Owen," Leigh said impatiently. "That's the sort of thing Chloe thinks, that just because of our last name we're better than everybody else."
Owen blinked. "I didn't say it was true! I just said that's what everyone thinks."
"I certainly hope you kids don't think you're better than the other Glen young fry, just because of who your grandparents are," Uncle Shirley said grimly. "If there's one thing I hate, it's a snob."
"A man's got to earn his own reputation, not live by his father's," Phil said unexpectedly. It was one of Dad's sayings, which he used whenever people wondered why he was preaching at a small church in the poor part of Kingsport, instead of taking over for his father in the posh section of the city.
Grandfather Blake had started out in the slums, too, and he ended up building such a reputation for himself that people came all the way from the States just to hear him preach!
"Yes, exactly, Phil," Uncle Shirley said, looking at him with respect.
"Anyway, people like Jack because of who he is," Leigh said. "He's nice to everyone, doesn't matter whether you're one of the 'best' families or if you're a fisherman's kid. Jack's just … well, he's just swell."
"Did I hear my name?" asked that young man unexpectedly, entering the drugstore just then. He took off his knitted cap, letting his curly hair spring up, and pulled his gloves off his hands one finger at a time. He walked over to the counter and sat on the stool next to Jo. "I thought I saw some familiar backs in here as I walked by, so I figured I'd stop in and see if it really was you folks."
"What are you up to today, Jack my lad?" Uncle Shirley asked, motioning the soda jerk over. "And what'll you have?"
"Oh, I can pay for my own, Uncle Shirley," Jack protested, digging into his pocket for change. "I'm out running errands for Mother. She won't mind if I'm a little bit late."
Uncle Shirley refused to let him pay. "My treat, in honour of the Blakes being here," he insisted.
Jack scowled cheerfully at him. "You win—this time. Chocolate and cherry, please," he ordered.
"I got chocolate, too," Jo told him. "But not cherry. I don't like cherry."
"You should try it," Jack said, winking at him. "It's a grand combination."
Jo shook his head. "It sounds nasty. I'd rather drink swamp water. I've actually had swamp water before, so I know all about it."
"Jo-siah!" Gwen cried. "When?"
Jo looked guilty. "Oh, uh—I didn't really, Gwennie. I was just kidding." He tried a weak smile. "Heh, heh."
"Are you looking forward to school starting up next week, Gwen?" Jack asked.
Gwen shrugged. "I think I'd like it better if we were in the same class. I won't know anybody in my class."
"Lynde is in your class," Jack said. "She tried to convince Grandmother that she didn't need to continue in school past the primary grades, but Grandmother insisted. Said the only way she'd hire Lynde was if Lynde agreed to finish high school. She's awfully smart, but she thinks school is a waste of time."
"So do I," Jo said.
"Oh, I'm glad Lynde will be there," Gwen said, glowing with satisfaction. "Even though we just met yesterday, she already feels like a friend."
"Everybody feels like a friend to you, Gwen," Phil said tolerantly. "Gwen likes everybody, even before she's met them," he explained to the rest.
"What's wrong with that?" Gwen asked indignantly.
"Not a thing," Uncle Shirley was quick to reassure her. "Not one thing."
"You know what they say," Jack said. "Strangers are just friends we haven't met yet."
"Who says, Jack? Mother says not to talk to strangers," Jo piped up.
"'Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unaware,'" Uncle Shirley quoted. "Your mother just wants to keep you safe, Jo," he said. "But there's nothing wrong with our Gwen being friendly to all." He smiled at the tall, gangly girl. "In fact, it's the very best way to be."